The Oscars make me grouchy
“The Oscars are watched by one billion people!” they cry. I remember back in the day when only half that many tuned in. Wouldn’t you love to know their secret? They’re getting the kind of figures Sydney was bragging about back in 2000. Best Olympics ever, they reckoned. It looked, from the vantage point of my two-seater sofa, strikingly similar to the rest of them though. Sure, the Bridge and Opera House were permanent fixtures before and after every ad-break, but the running tracks were red, swimmers got wet, and at least one athlete stole the hearts of viewers everywhere with their own tale of success in the face of enormous odds.
But do you think Eric Moussambani’s suicidal freestyle was more death-defying than my first selection when I grabbed the remote? Hollywood’s night-of-nights, was, I can assure you, the most teeth-gnashingly awful Oscar display, ever.
It was memorable in the way a Logies night always is. Yes, that kind of memorable. The leading man, Hugh Jackman, endlessly talented though he is, has clearly spent too much time as Peter Allen, or with Baz Luhrmann. In fact, Luhrmann even threw together a thirty minute (you weren’t watching so prove it wasn’t) song-and-dance routine that sounded more like a parody of its creator than a tribute to film. They even had the ‘hurl-a-couch-cushion’ temerity to close with “The musical is back!”
I’m sorry, what?
Baz, High School Musical 3 doesn’t count. And nor does the Slumdog credit scene, cool as that was.
Penelope Cruz’s reaction was priceless, and in fact, mirrored mine. It was at this point that I felt compelled to reach out and touch the screen where her shoulder was; not for any teevee-rotic jollies, but to reassure this Spanish beauty that nothing lacked in her translation, that she had indeed heard Hughie correctly. Jackman – goddamn Wolverine – was up there making a go-go-dancing ass of himself at the behest of non-adamantium-possessing clods, and here I was wondering where the bloody awards had gone. Am I so cynical?
It wasn’t even the tunes that really set my nostrils flaring. I let the stage props slide, too, admonishing myself for daring to think that I, or my Grade 6 drama teacher, could do a better job.
No, it was the group-hug sessions. This year, instead of just having a Hollywood star parade up on stage to announce the nominees and winner, they had five Hollywood stars do it. This was the 2009 Oscars though, damnit, and they weren’t just going to read out names. They started admiring. Then they began praising, and fawning and…leaning their heads over to one side and smiling and – oh god! – I had to change station. Dexter was on the other channel, and I guarantee if I hadn’t seen it three times already, I’d have watched that. (Even my favourite T.V. psychopath would have empathized at this point.)
There were moments, though, when I tuned in attentively. I was touched by the applause afforded to the Ledger family, and I enjoyed watching Danny Boyle’s jumping up on stage, and smiled when Cruz spoke Spanish in her acceptance speech. I wondered what Indian megastar Anil Kapoor was thinking while up on stage for Slumdog’s win. “Wow, so this is the American Bollywood!”
Could a billion people have watched the Oscars? It’s possible, but unlikely. It was probably closer to ten percent of that, just switching channels ten times.